


Once More Unto The Breach

by kixnstyx



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Clone Wars, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Mild Gore, Reincarnation, Star Wars: The Clone Wars Season 7, check chapter notes for content warnings, pregnancy (not OC's)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27332566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kixnstyx/pseuds/kixnstyx
Summary: As Syenna Lark is born over and over again, she begins to realize she can use her growing awareness of her reincarnations to stop the terrible tragedy that befalls the galaxy and the Jedi Order.This fic is my tribute to the incredible book Life After Life by Kate Atkinson. If you’re reading this, I highly recommend it. Remember to buy it from a small independent bookshop! :)
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Anakin Skywalker/Original Character(s), Anakin Skywalker/Original Female Character(s), Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Original Character(s)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

Only the crunch of glass under her boot and the saber’s hum keeps her present—grounded—in the room. Before her, the expansive glitter of Coruscant’s upper district sparkles like a vast extension of the night sky, unaware of the chaos that has unfolded in the vast dome that overlooked the city. Strings of speeders dart through the metropolis like insects. She shifts her feet, listening to the hums that emanate from twin pillars of blue light. Skywalker stands several paces in front of her, his lightsaber angled towards her own. The sabers’ glow casts his angular face in deep shadow, and she glimpses his eyes, simmering like two pools of molten gold. Rage bubbles deep within the man, and beneath it, fear. She can feel it in the air, in his stance, in the buzz and crackle of the sapphire blade levelled toward her. Her own saber is in ready position, hilt slick with sweat under her clenched fists. The air is cold and dry, scratching at her nose, but she keeps her focus. Now, she knows, is not the time for distraction.

The woman keeps it trained on Skywalker as they circle each other through the expansive senatorial chamber. _Be mindful,_ she tells herself, _be ready_. Everything around her is dialled to a hundred. The rough hew of her collar scratches. The cool press of metal under her robes, strapped to her arm. The crystal hanging around her neck. 

Behind her, she can sense her master, his own saber pointed forcefully at the Shadow lying against the frame of the room’s gaping window. His voice shatters the silence.

“He has control of the Senate, and the Courts. He's too dangerous to be left alive.” Mace Windu’s mouth is set in a thin line, thick beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. The Shadow lies supine against the edge of the wide window. 

" _No_ ,” Skywalker protests, “I need him _ALIVE_ !” He lunges towards the window, towards Mace, but she swings her lightsaber, blocking the blade with a _CRASH._ A second swing, _two crashes._ Then...

...stalemate. Back to silence. She steps carefully, mirroring Skywalker’s movements. Keeping herself between him and her master. 

Mace Windu tries again. It’s no use, she knows—it’s why she’s here. He tries anyway, desperate to save the Chosen One, pouring every ounce of strength and hope into preserving the Order he’s served all his life.

“Skywalker — Anakin,” Mace says, urgently. He’s almost pleading now. “It’s not too late for you. You can _help_ _end_ this madness.”

Skywalker glances to the window. He’s distracted, the woman can tell. And desperate—desperate to kill her and Mace, and save the Chancellor. Save _Padmé_. Desperation can be powerful, she thinks. A caged animal with nothing left to lose will tear its captors apart. But Skywalker isn’t the one with nothing left to lose. _Just one step closer._ _One_ _step_. 

She tenses her right arm. It’s a subtle movement—unnoticeable to most—but enough that a duellist as skilled as Skywalker can pick up on it. He anticipates her wide swing and steps towards her as she raises her arm, plunging his lightsaber into her body. 

She gasps involuntarily, feeling the air rush out of her chest as Skywalker’s blue saber buries itself in the folds of her robes. Her hand opens and her lightsaber tumbles to the floor, its blade vanishing into the silver hilt. Smirking, triumphant, Skywalker retracts his own blade with a flourish, standing so close she can feel his heavy breath on her forehead.

_This is it. One moment to end it all._

The Force converges around her. Light flashes through the room and for a second, she thinks she sees someone standing behind them all in the distant sky, framed by the stars. Somewhere distant in the room, she senses Master Windu’s grief, then resolve, as he swings his saber down. She hears the Shadow cry out in rage and pity — _“Please, Anakin!_

_—Help me!”_

“ _Meejewz ju_ ,” she chokes out, feeling the words rattle her lungs, staring up at the Chosen One standing before her. “ _Sleemo_.”

With her final breath, she pulls the hidden dagger from within her sleeve. She slashes forward, and the last thing she sees is Anakin's shocked golden eyes as he realises what she's done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: canon-typical violence
> 
> This is my first published fic - yay! If you're reading, do stick around because I have this outlined and ready to NaNoWriMo! Any and all comments are so, so welcome. If you do comment, I will love you forever. :)


	2. First Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check end notes for chapter-specific content warnings.

_41 BBY_ ** _._ ** _Old Ta'Ah trading outpost, Milax V._

The woman rushed through the market, tripping on the brown wrap that trailed around her ankles. The ruins of the stalls which populated the street were mostly empty, save for a few fruitsellers and off-world travellers who needed to restock on supplies before continuing to their next destination.

“A healer,” she called. “Please, anyone! A healer, or a doctor, anyone!”

She stumbled on the cracked clay and felt gravel fly into her shoes. There hadn’t been a doctor in Kaat for years, but it was worth a try. Sometimes when strangers from off-world passed through, they brought with them medical supplies or herbs. A few moons ago, they had even had a professor from the University of Alderaan travel past, intending to conduct research on the neighbouring moon. But it had been a long time since the city’s glory days, and very few tended to pass through the broken-down trading port anymore.

“Please,” she said, spotting a man salvaging parts from a speeder-bike. She grabbed his arm, gripping the green-grey sleeve with her slippery paws.

“Sir,” she continued. “We need a doctor.”

The man shrugged her arm off.

“Times are tough,” he said. “If you’re begging for money, you won’t be getting any from me.”

“Sir, please. It’s our baby. We need a doctor for our baby,” she felt her paws scrabbling against his cloak as he turned to walk away. 

The man looked down at her with narrowed eyes.

“And what makes you think I can do anything about that?”

Warra Sati watched him walk away before wheeling wildly around. There was barely anyone else in the market, but in her panicked state the fact didn’t register in her brain. Any chance was better than no chance, and as long as there were people to ask, there was hope. Her baby would survive. It had to.

“Anyone?” she asked. She grabbed the shoulders of a panicked fruitseller, shaking him. His lekku quivered in shock and fear.

“Help!” she cried. “Help, please!” She gripped him and felt his hands prying at her paws.

The Twi’lek managed to push her away, and she stumbled back into the dirt, caught off balance.

“Get off me,” he spat. His eyes narrowed into a glower, thick brow heavy with disgust. “And don’t touch me again, or I’ll make you regret it.”

Warra staggered away. She would keep looking. If there was a doctor in the city, she would find them.

x x x

When she finally burst into the home, she could barely see. Tears and sweat dripped down her face and clouded her vision. It felt like everything around her was on fire, and she struggled to fill her lungs with air as she waited for the world to stop tilting and catch up to the rest of her body.

“Warra, is he here? Did you find a doctor?” Grandmother’s pale face shone with tears. 

The Bothan woman shook her head frantically. 

“No one. No one in the whole district.”

“Something’s happening to the baby.” Deep creases of fear pulled Grandmother’s face into panic as she clutched the newly born infant. “She can’t breathe. The baby—The baby is going to die.”

Hania moaned weakly in the corner. The mattress was soaked in blood. Warra felt like she was going to throw up. It looked like Hania had been stabbed through the gut, but Warra knew what it was. This was what they’d been afraid of.

“There must be _someone_ ,” cried Grandmother. “Someone in the city can help us.”

Warra stood, frozen. Closed her eyes and prayed for a miracle. Whatever cosmic gods or spirits were out there. . . the Force, if it existed. . .

“We’re losing her,” Grandmother muttered. “We’re losing the child. We have to do _something._ ”

Hania was shivering weakly, her eyes tightly shut. Warra wasn’t sure if she was aware of what was happening. She wasn’t sure if she _wanted_ her to know what was happening.

“Grandma,” Warra said, her voice barely escaping her throat. “Can you do anything?”

But even now, Warra realised, it would be too late. Even now, if they could somehow find a doctor, or a healer—it was too late.

A tear stained Grandmother’s cheek. 

“NO!” Hania wrenched herself from the bed, grabbing for her baby. “No, no, no —”

Grandmother held the child, patting its face, listening to its chest, desperate. 

Warra Sati took a step towards Grandmother. The elder was clutching the tiny body to her chest and shaking uncontrollably.

“Is she. . .?” 

Grandmother nodded. Ashen-faced. And Hania Lark sobbed. She sobbed, and sobbed, doubled-over, her body heaving. Warra knelt and gathered her wife in her arms, clinging to her like it was the only thing that would stop them from falling into darkness. . .

_. . .Darkness._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Major character death, pregnancy, blood, neonatal death
> 
> Chapters are very short right now — bear with me, they will get longer starting from the next one. :)


	3. Once Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check end-notes from chapter-specific content warnings.

_41 BBY_ **_._ ** _Old Ta’Ah trading outpost, Milax V._

The woman rushed through the market, tripping on the brown wrap that trailed around her ankles. The ruins of the stalls which populated the street were mostly empty, save for a few fruitsellers and off-world travellers who needed to restock on supplies before continuing to their next destination.

“A healer,” she called. “Please, anyone! A healer, or a doctor, anyone!”

She stumbled through the dust, losing her balance and recovering.

“We need a doctor!”

Warra hastily scrubbed the tears from her face and tumbled into the main street. There were a few travellers here, wandering the stalls with their bags or hovering pallets. 

“Please!” Warra shouted, as she burst through the stalls. She looked mad, she knew, but if there was a chance, she would take it. “A doctor!”

There — she spotted a slender Rodian strolling through the streets. He wore simple garb — plain, brown cloth and a stole, and moved elegantly among the stalls. He moved the way she imagined doctors would move. Gently, intelligently, precisely. Perhaps . . . ? It was worth a try. Anything was worth a try.

She approached him quickly, and he turned before she spoke.

“Can I help you?”

“Please, sir,” she said, looking low to the ground. She held a steady bow, but felt her legs quivering uncontrollably. If he was from off-world, he was at least wealthier than most of the city. If he was a doctor, he would certainly be wealthier than the population of the city and its surrounding regions. “She - giving birth - our baby needs a doctor. If you can help, please. Please, please, help us . . .”

Silence.

A leathered hand pushed her chin up and she looked into two mesmerizing, jewel-like eyes. 

“Your name, miss?”

“Warra,” she managed to choke out, every fibre of her being struggling to find the words she needed to convince this man to help her. “Warra Sati, sir, I’m a mechanic, I live with my wife, Hania, and—”

“Warra,” he said, softly. “I will help you the best that I can. Show me the way.”

x x x

“Lucky you came when you did, doctor,” said Grandmother, nuzzling the newly-born infant she held tenderly in her arms. “Without you, this child would have been lost far too soon.”

The Rodian was standing by the table, towelling off his slender fingers with a crisp white cloth Warra had procured after the bloody ordeal. She watched his green hands rustle through the fabric, ten slim dancers in a ballet. Warra couldn’t quite bring herself to look again at her baby, _her baby daughter,_ lest she burst into tears.

“Ah,” said the Rodian, from the corner of the room where he stood. “I must apologise to you, elder. I am not a doctor—though I was trained in the healing arts. In this instance, it was simple enough to save your child. Just a cut to the cord and she could breath freely.

“And my name is Bolla Ropal. I am a humble servant of the Republic, and an emissary of the Jedi Order.”

Grandmother looked sharply at Warra.

“You haven’t brought a doctor here, _ononi_ ,” she scolded. “You brought a charlatan! I know about the Jedi—they steal children away from their families and induct them into their cult. And all the while, the Republic allows them to do it...in the name of peace and security!”

Warra wheeled around in horror, but the Rodian’s large eyes sparkled gently. He wasn't offended by the harsh words. No, Warra decided, he didn't seem upset at all. She trusted the man—and not just because he’d saved her daughter.

“I understand your feelings,” said Ropal. “Though I cannot agree with them. I can only offer you my promise that your child will not be leaving this planet with me today. Perhaps one day when she is older, if she has the gift of the Force, a fellow member of the Order will return and offer to train her. But for today, I simply wish you well. She is a beautiful child.”

Grandmother spluttered, but Warra stepped forward and clasped Ropal’s slender green fingers. How could she express her gratitude? Not through a gift, but if the Jedi were as noble as he seemed, perhaps a promise would be enough. 

“Thank you, Master Jedi,” she murmured. She gestured back to Hania, who lay exhausted in the bed, and Grandmother, who was peering down again at the swaddled infant in her arms. “From all of us. You saved our child, and we are in your debt forever.”

“There’s no debt at all,” said Ropal. He was still smiling, and Warra noticed his gentle gaze on the baby burbling in Grandmother’s eyes.

“We are truly grateful,” Warra repeated. She looked sternly at her grandmother, and again smiled at the Jedi. “And if you return to us, you would be an honoured guest. Please, allow me to offer you some food before you set out on your journey.” 

Warra felt herself walking toward the kitchen. After the events of the past hours, she felt numb—but her hospitable instincts, it seemed, had kicked in without a second thought.

“I’m grateful for the offer,” the Rodian said. “But I will not trouble you more. I offer my warmest congratulations to you and your wife, for children are truly a gift. It is my honour to protect them, in any way that I can.” He bowed three times. “And may the force be with you. Always.”

Warra accompanied him to the door and stood at the entrance in a daze, watching his thin brown robes swish around the corner of the street before returning to the bedroom.

“Protect children…” scoffed Grandmother, though Warra now noticed her gaze had softened. “We'll see about that.”

Warra ignored her, and went over to Hania again. Her wife was asleep, and though her dark complexion was unusually pallid, she looked restful. Hania had always been the religious one, but Warra found a lump in her throat as she thought about what might have happened had the day’s galactic stroke of luck not befallen them. ‘Whichever deities placed the Jedi Master in this town on this day,’ Warra thought to herself, ‘I’m thankful for them. And maybe the Force even had something to do with it…’ She chuckled wryly. That’d be something to think about another day.

For now, Warra just sat next to Hania. She was hesitant to sleep, not now, not after all that had happened— but her body was tired, and soon sleep took hold and she drifted into unconsciousness. 

In the morning, Hania woke up to see Warra sitting by the bed, the baby nestled in folds of thick burlap and sleeping peacefully.

“She’s beautiful,” Hania breathed.

Warra looked up, startled. Her nose twitched. Adorable. Hania never got tired of that.

“You’re awake!”

Hania smiled, and reached for her. “Let me hold her.”

Warra helped her out of bed and passed the baby into her arms. The child had inherited Hania’s warm round eyes, the Bothan noted, and her round nose. Well I’ll have to work _extra_ hard to influence her personality, she thought dryly. She couldn’t have their daughter going around being a complete carbon copy of Hania. One was enough to handle as it was.

Hania was standing by the round window, looking out at the morning sun. The star breathed warmth into the room and rays of gold cast soft purple shadows around them. Warra made her way over and leaned into her wife. 

“Fate has blessed us,” she said. “Our miracle child.”

Their baby gurgled and looked out at the expansive sky. Far above in the radiant blue, a convor circled amidst the clouds.

x x x

Growing up in the Outer Rim, Hania Lark had seen many strange things. None of them, however, had prepared her for the sheer unpredictability of raising her daughter. Some days, she would return home to find Syenna sitting in the strangest places around the house. Sometimes Syenna was sitting on the highest shelf in the kitchen, several feet from the ground, leaving no clue how she'd gotten there. On other occasions, Hania would find crumbs on Syenna’s clothes from biscuits which were most definitely stored in a tightly sealed jar with a child-proof lock. 

Hania was sure that _something_ was up with her baby — she just wasn't sure what, exactly, that was. Most days, Warra’s grandmother, who lived in the unit above them, was watching Syenna while the girl’s two parents were at work. But Grandmother never seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary.

Hania suspected that Warra hadn't noticed anything strange about their daughter either, because Warra had never been particularly familiar with humans before leaving her rural colony and meeting Hania at one of Bothawui’s major trading cities. Even while they lived in the city, Warra spent most of her time tinkering with speederbikes and engines while Hania took care of customer service. Machines were the Bothan woman’s expertise, and Hania had a warm and gentle presence that suited a more socially oriented career. After their engagement they'd moved out to Milax V with Warra’s grandmother. The planet had a small human population too, and Hania supposed Warra’s limited exposure to human infants hadn't given her cause to question Syenna’s unusual behaviour. For all she knew, all human babies were gifted climbers with a strong grip.

But one Benduday afternoon, something happened that would change Hania and Warra’s lives forever. She’d returned home from selling repaired droid parts at the main station in the Ta’Ah trading outpost, only to find the house entirely empty. Warra, she knew, would be at the garage still. But Grandmother should have been home. She rushed through the rooms, lifting cushions and chairs in case Syenna had crawled into a nook or corner somewhere. 

“Syenna?” she tried. “Gran?”

There was no response. Perhaps. . . the bathroom? Empty. She almost slipped on the cold bathroom tiles as she spun around to search the next room. _Try to control your breathing,_ Hania reminded herself. Grandmother might be asleep with Syenna. Or—she’d searched the whole house, after all—maybe Grandmother had gone out for a walk and taken Syenna with her. That was probably it. Nothing was wrong, though it couldn’t hurt to take a stroll outside and make sure they were okay.

Then — then, as she turned to leave, to see where Grandmother might have wandered, she glanced up. Out of habit, mostly. She’d had it drilled into her from an early age to make sure the lights were off before she left the room—energy wasn’t cheap, especially for working families like the one Hania had come from. And yet, when she glanced up at the lights, she saw . . .

. . . _Syenna?_

She blinked twice. Her baby was _bobbing gently in the air, bumping her head against the ceiling with glee._ Hania didn’t hesitate. She rushed under her daughter with her arms outstretched—terrified the spell that was holding her baby aloft would break at any second, terrified her daughter would plunge to the floor in a blur before she could catch her. Instead, Syenna somersaulted through the air and giggled, looking down at her mother, before drifting into her arms. Hania gripped her daughter extra hard, to make sure she was real. 

Syenna stared back up at her with round, brown eyes.

Then Grandmother burst in.

“Oh, Hania,” the elderly woman said, visibly distressed. “I’ve looked _everywhere._ I can’t find the child—”

Hania turned, holding Syenna, and smiled shakily.

“She’s here, Gran. But. . . I think we need to talk.”

x x x

They waited until Warra got home. After explaining what had happened, or at least, what Hania could piece together from her frantic memory of the afternoon, they came to a somewhat unanimous resolution. Grandmother groused, but she too agreed that there was only one person who would know what to do.

“How do we contact this Ropal fellow, anyway?” asked Grandmother. “And I don’t want him showing up just to take the girl back to his cult, mind you.”

Warra sighed, head in her hands. Hania rubbed her head gently, working her fingers through Warra’s bristly fur. 

“She’s so young,” murmured the Bothan. “We can’t let her go yet—who knows how long this training will take. Does she have to live on _Coruscant_?”

Hania looked at Syenna, wrapped in a layered periwinkle turban in Grandmother’s lap. She looked like a tiny purple flower—sweet, and delicate. Not yet ready to face the trials of the universe.

“We’ll send a message. Talk to Master Ropal, first,” Hania decided. “They’ll make it work. _We’ll_ make it work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: mention of neonatal death
> 
> Writing stories is new to me in general so any feedback is welcome x


	4. Little One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check end notes for chapter-specific content warnings.

As it turned out, the Jedi Temple was relatively easy to contact, and Warra was able to put through a short transmission to the mysterious peacekeepers’ headquarters at the spaceport. Although Ropal had been unavailable, the Jedi on duty had informed them that their troubles with Syenna were not uncommon for children with a strong connection to the Force. When there was next a Jedi passing through their sector, the gravelly-voiced Nikto master had told her, they would visit their home and evaluate Syenna’s Force sensitivity. Until then, Warra and Hania would have to learn how to handle their child’s unusual abilities.

“This is a gift from the Force,” the Jedi had said, before cutting the transmission brusquely. 

“It’s a gift,” Grandmother grumbled, “But the _Force_ had nothing to do with it. You’ve got some weird genes somewhere in your heritage sweetheart,” she said, patting Hania on the shoulder. “Perhaps an alien species from a planet with different gravity.”

Hania wasn’t sure if that made sense, but it wasn’t any more absurd that the idea of a living, invisible energy field that made babies float in the air. 

x x x

It was Syenna’s fourth summer before the Jedi made good on their promise. The sun bore down on the dirt streets of Ta’Ah outpost and stifling heat scorched the dry, packed-mud town. In the distance, the rumbling thunder of conveyex trains carried scrapped ships and hyperdrive parts from the depot to major trading hubs on the other sides of the planet. Scraps of coloured fabric, tied to the tops of houses that lined the winding streets, sputtered in the intermittent atmospheric gusts that Syenna had come to know and love.

Syenna—still at an age where her legs felt too short for her body—waddled through the small street, chasing an inflatable ball through the dirt. Hania sat on the steps of their home, watching from a distance. There weren’t other children in Ta’Ah, at least not those of Syenna’s age, and Hania knew that this might have set Syenna back a little. But their family had always been enough. There was an easy rhythm to things, these days. Syenna would wake, always excited, and greet the morning sky with trepidation. Hania envied her that endless well of energy. Then Warra would give them each a kiss and go off to work. Hania worked too, but had found herself losing the stamina she’d once had to work from the early morning hours to night. By the time the sun brushed the highest point in the sky, she was back home to take care of Syenna. Hania was never sure what, exactly, she was meant to _do_ with her daughter. There were no schools on Ta’Ah, and Grandmother hadn’t much experience with schooling to offer, except for a repertoire of Bothan folktales she would tell to Syenna every night. She didn’t believe in forcing young children to work, either. There would be enough of that in the years to come.

So she contented herself to let Syenna play in the open air, to taste the earthen planet and know the dry, warm wind. When she was old enough, Warra would start training her in mechanics. That was her ticket off-world, Hania thought. Her ticket to a better life, or a more exciting planet. If she wanted it, that is—Syenna adored her family and home. There was always something new, or exciting, to find. Syenna helped Hania see the tiniest things in the world in a new light—and that was _everything._

“Not too far,” she called out, noticing Syenna stumbling after the ball to the end of the road, where the intercity freightlines ran perpendicular to the urban rookeries they called home. “Don’t walk on the tracks.”

Syenna paused and looked back at her mother. Her hair caught the sun, and for a moment, it looked like she was ringed in a halo of light. _I’m_ probably _doting on her too much,_ Hania reprimanded herself. But then again, could she be blamed? After everything she and Warra had been through to have their daughter survive—happy, and healthy—surely she was entitled to have a little pride. 

The ball bounced into the air, and Syenna reached for it, giggling. Her cheerful glee carried through the quiet air and Hania felt herself beaming. Her daughter pushed the ball into the air again, watching it float weightlessly above the tips of her fingers like a bubble.

Then a gust of summer wind pushed the ball from Syenna’s tiny hand. It bounced onto the tracks, and as Syenna turned to snatch it back, Hania felt the tremors of the afternoon conveyex express line. She felt it in the ground first, before she heard it—and saw too late a cloud of dust kicked up into the air as the iron behemoth hurtled towards her daughter.

x x x

Hania reached the tracks in minutes, but the dust had cleared. Where her daughter had been just moments ago, she now saw a tall, frog-like man. He held Syenna in one arm as he stepped toward her.

“Your daughter needs to be more careful,” he said, sternly. “If I hadn’t been passing through, she would most likely not be here, standing in front of you.” He set her down and pushed her towards Hania. Syenna stumbled, disoriented, and ran to her mother. Hania could think of nothing else but her daughter’s pudgy hands clutching at her leg as she bent down to lift her daughter into her arms. Syenna burrowed her face into her mother’s rough tunic and breathed deeply. Hania felt herself inhaling too, though whether it was to calm herself or assure herself of Syenna’s presence, she wasn’t sure.

“I’m very grateful to you for keeping my daughter safe,” Hania managed to say. “Beyond words.” She waited for his response, but the man stood still, regarding her almost haughtily. She looked down at Syenna, then back at the tall man. He had saved his daughter—at least, it seemed—but she didn’t want to get too comfortable around a stranger who had appeared out of nowhere. It wouldn’t do to let her guard down, and she still felt on edge from the train and Syenna’s near accident.

“I must confess,” she added, “that I haven’t seen you in these parts before. There’s not much that goes on here including new arrivals that everyone else doesn’t find out about eventually.” _An implicit warning._ “Can I help you?” Hania did her best to summon her friendliest sales associate smile. 

“As a matter of fact, you can,” he said. “I was travelling through the sector on a remote mission when I received a message alerting me to your family’s presence. As I understand it, you requested that the Jedi Order evaluate your daughter for recruitment.”

Hania’s stomach dropped. The _Jedi Order._

“Well, I—” she paused. It was true, Syenna still exhibited some...strange qualities, but now that she and Warra had grown used to it she no longer knew if they even _needed_ the help and training Master Ropal had hinted at four cycles ago. “That was two years ago—we did send a message, but I didn’t realise you would be coming.”

She felt stupid saying that. Of course, what else had she expected? But suddenly, the possibility of losing her daughter felt very real. Deep down, she’d always felt that this joy, this gift of life that she and Warra had received in the form of their angelic girl, might be temporary. Conditional. That there were some kinds of cosmic strings attached, or that the fates or whatever spirits out there had bigger plans that didn’t look much like anything Hania or Warra were imagining. It had been too good to be true, to have her daughter. And now, Hania thought grimly, it was happening. They were going to try and take her away. 

The Jedi seemed offended. 

“There are a great many force-sensitives in the galaxy. You’ll forgive us if we had limited resources with which to get here _sooner_.”

“Of course,” she hurried. “I suppose you just caught me off-guard. Would you…” she paused, not sure how to proceed. “Would you like to come inside? My wife will be back from work, and perhaps—perhaps we can discuss with her. She’ll want to speak with you too, as I’m sure you’d understand.”

The Jedi nodded. 

“As I expected. But I will wait.”

x x x

A tall, intimidating alien in brown robes was not what Warra had expected to see when she arrived home, but the look on Hania’s face snapped her out of her initial shock. Soon, Hania explained why the man was here (all the while, Warra noticed somewhat sourly, he looked out the window impatiently). Hania was careful to mention how the Jedi had saved Syenna’s life—probably to ease the brewing tensions at the table, since she’d always been the _people_ person—but Warra had enough sense in her to know that Hania was no more comfortable about this than she was. 

Syenna was asleep in the next room after her ordeal at the train tracks. Warra had intended to speak quietly, but she felt her words come out loud and sharp.

“So, you just take her? _Our_ _daughter?”_ She tried to keep the incredulity from her tone. Warra didn’t want to antagonise this man—who seemed to have an ego to match his size—but it all felt ridiculous. Here was a stranger who appeared out of _nowhere_ and was now telling them he needed to take their only child away to a distant Core World planet? It was a joke. Her grandmother agreed.

“Syenna is their child,” Grandmother said. “While I admit she’s shown behaviours that are. . . unique, we’ve come to live with it.”

“I’m no fresh-faced initiate, ma’am,” the Jedi said, looking down his nose at the elderly Bothan woman. “I’ve seen countless Jedi initiates, and witnessed dangerous bursts of power. I’ve heard your line from other parents many times, and each time, they have come to regret it when their child’s raw power has exploded in their face.”

“Excuse me?” Warra was taken aback. 

“It’s only a matter of time before her connection to the Force outgrows your ability to handle her,” argued the Jedi. “Most children begin training at this level of maturity. For humans, some enter the temple at an even earlier age.”

“If it was so important that she be trained right away,” Grandmother shot back, “You would have sent a Jedi to take her when we sent our initial message. Now that we’ve had a few more years to understand Syenna’s unique talents, you decide it is the right time to train her?”

“Syenna is happy here,” Warra added, fiercely. “ _My daughter_ is happy here.”

“Enough!” bellowed the Jedi. “The Jedi Code gives us great responsibility. We have a duty to ensure Force-Sensitive children are taken to the temple for training. It is for their safety as much as it is yours.” He leaned forward, the table creaking under his muscled elbows. “The galaxy is a dangerous place for children like her. Pirates, smugglers—all would go to great lengths to acquire someone with her potential. If she joins the Order, she will be safe. And she will fulfil her potential as a member of our ranks. A knight, who will guarantee order, peace, and justice to families throughout the galaxy.”

Grandmother regarded him skeptically, but Hania looked at the Jedi intently. If he was right, would they be hurting Syenna by keeping her here? Were they _really_ qualified to raise her? Two working girls from a run-down town on Bothawui, who’d tried to make it big but ended up in another run-down town on an abandoned trading planet. But they loved her, too, Hania thought fiercely. More than any order of knights or masters could. 

Warra noticed her discomfort.

“Give us a day, at least,” Warra offered. “We need to talk about this. Without you.” 

The Jedi looked annoyed, but he nodded.

“I have errands in this system I can attend to while you make your decision. But do not take too long—I'm due for a mission in the next cycle. I'll return tomorrow. I expect you to have made your decision by then.”

x x x

First there was silence.

Warra stared wildly around the room.

“Are we _seriously_ considering this?”

Hania just looked into her lap. Warra felt herself reaching across the table to take her hand, but stopped herself.

“Hania,” she repeated. _“You’re really considering this?”_

Hania just sat there. Warra felt herself getting angry. It wasn’t like her wife to be so— so _quiet_ , so— hopeless? Hania was a dreamer, an optimist. Warra couldn’t believe she was going to give up so easily.

Grandmother was firm. “I do not trust the Jedi,” she spat. “This one especially.”

At last Hania cleared her throat. 

“I love our daughter,” she said, looking directly into Warra’s eyes, daring her to protest. “I love her more than the fields love the rain. Our daughter is special. She has powers no ordinary human or Bothan has. We don’t—we can’t—understand those powers and we won’t know how to protect her. Or if we _can_ protect her.”

“We don’t understand her powers,” Warra protested. “But we understand _her.”_

“Yes. _I’m scared,_ _Warra_. No one knows Syenna like us. And the Jedi will never take that away from her, or us. But we’ve said we want a better life for her, you know that. If this is it...she will be safe, at least.”

Warra slumped onto the table. The room swam hazily around her, like it had the day of Syenna’s birth—the day the Jedi had come into their lives and saved their baby. 

Grandmother shook her head, steadfast. “I cannot agree _.”_

They argued. Hours, it felt like, until the twin moons glowed faintly through the window and the three women's hushed voices grew hoarse.

In the end it came down to Warra. Breathing shakily, she forced a jagged lump down her throat. 

“I’ve made my decision.”

x x x

The next morning, Syenna woke to find her parents were already gathered in the dining room.

“Syenna?” Hania’s voice broke.

“Mama?” She’d listened to the discussion that continued late into the night, and she didn’t like the sound of it at all. There was something strangely _final_ about the way Hania said her name, the way she stared at her daughter so intently, like she was trying to freeze her in carbonite using only her eyes. 

When Hania stretched her arms out, Syenna felt something break inside of her. She ran to her mother, plunging her face into her mother’s shoulder. Tears spilled from her eyes hot and fast.

“Mama!” she cried. She didn’t want to leave. Surely she would see them again, Syenna was certain that she would, there was no question. So why were her parents crying so much, and why did she want to hurl the contents of her morning’s breakfast right up out of her mouth? She gripped onto her mothers, terrified that at any moment the Jedi would tear her away and carry her out of the building.

“It’s alright,” murmured Hania, and she let Syenna bury her face in the crook of her neck. Let her daughter breathe the lingering perfume of flowers that she picked for the dining room every day. “It’s alright my love. It’s going to be alright.”

She paused, rubbing her daughter’s tiny shoulders. “When you go with the Jedi today, I need you to remember two things for me please.”

Hania pulled back, staring feverishly into her daughter’s eyes.

“Remember who you are and why you’re going. Syenna, you are going to be a Jedi. A hero. You’re going to save the galaxy. Okay? And remember that I—we—love you so, so much.”

Then Warra wrapped them tightly in her arms, trying to squeeze every inch of her love into Syenna—as if, perhaps, if she hugged her tight enough the love she held in her heart would seep into her daughter. Make her unloseable. Forge some kind of connection, permanent and unforgettable, to comfort and nourish her in the years to come that she’d know to be her mothers’ love. Or perhaps she hugged Syenna _so_ _tightly_ because she couldn’t bear to let her go. If she let go, Warra knew, if she loosened the embrace even slightly, she would never be able to wrap her arms around her daughter again. There would be no going back.

“I love you,” Warra said. She said it again, and again, pulling her daughter tighter with every word. “Mama will always love you. So much. 

When she finally let go, she fell to her knees and felt Hania sink to the ground beside her. She leaned into her wife and sobbed as Syenna hugged Grandmother goodbye and, finally, took her first steps into a galaxy without her parents.

x x x

The road was dry and gravelly underfoot. Syenna felt a piece of stone in her left boot, rolling and pressing into the heel of her foot. As she trudged forward, she cast her mind around, unable to unsee the faces of her mothers streaked with tears, red and ugly with grief. She fixed her eyes on the clouds which drifted lazily across the sky, trying to imagine what it would be like to soar through them, to relax into their soft, pillowy beds or burst through them like running through a field of flowers. Something swooped overhead, circling above them both. 

“Come on,” said the Jedi, wrenching her from the daydream. He gripped her arm roughly, and Syenna scurried to catch up with his broad steps. “We have a transport to catch to get to Nistu spaceport. We’ll rendezvous there with a Master who’ll take you to the Temple.” 

x x x 

The _clang_ of the shuttle as it set itself down broke Syenna from her sleep. Hot steam, humid and smelly, hissed through the air and Syenna felt strands of hair dancing at the edges of her vision as she disembarked the crowded transport ship. She brushed her hair aside absently, focused only on the sheer size of the massive hangar she’d just stepped into. The cavernous, silver ceiling gaped above her like a distant mirror, and thought it wasn’t as clear as glass she could see the faint, blurred movements of the crowd reflected in its burnished veneer. She watched the coloured blobs shifting in the hazy reflection. They reminded her of the spots that appeared when she looked too long into the bright sky, only their shifting forms were accompanied by the cacophony of travellers and the _hssss_ of shuttle hydraulics. 

“Come on,” repeated the Jedi as he marched ahead. “We must find Master Ropal. He’ll take you back to the Temple, because I have an important mission on Maldo Kreis.” He said this in a slow and exaggerated voice, as if he thought she didn’t understand. The Jedi man marched her through a crowded corridor to another hangar, where he stopped impatiently and crossed his arms. The rush of chatter in a hundred alien languages swarmed around them. Syenna almost covered her ears, but instead fixed her eyes on her feet and tried to focus on the way her boots were laced up. Another reminder of her parents, kneeling over her as they explained the looped knot once more.

“Hmmph,” said the Jedi. Syenna stayed quiet. He didn’t seem like someone who wanted her to say anything. He tapped his thick leg impatiently and as Syenna looked at him, she saw him absently clenching one of his hands open and closed, veins bulging at his wrist. Syenna felt a spike of terror, as if the Jedi would explode at any second and grab her by the neck with his meaty fingers.

Luckily, she was broken from the thought by the arrival of another figure, approaching from the far side of the hanar..

“Ropal! You’ve arrived,” shouted the Jedi, his deep voice booming across the space. Syenna saw a slender Rodian strolling towards them. His slender frame cut a surprisingly elegant figure against the chaos of the spaceport, and his two large. . . ears? —Syenna wasn’t sure— twitched gently as he walked. They reminded her of the marsupial rodents that sometimes hopped through the streets at home. The Rodian’s worn, beige tunic and his gentle demeanour seemed familiar, almost comforting, and for a moment Syenna stopped thinking about the angry Jedi, or the yawning hangar, or her mothers’ arms wrapped around her.

“Ah,” said the Rodian. He had a soft, if slightly strained, voice. Syenna latched on to every word. “I’m afraid I was held up.” He paused. “And you are our soon-to-be initiate.”

“Not yet,” barked the tall Jedi. “But she shows potential. Or so her family says.”

The Rodian looked down at her and smiled. Syenna stared into his large, dark eyes. It felt like she was looking out of a viewport into the deep expanse of space, seeing thousands of twinkling pricks of light that promised far-off stars and galaxies. What hidden secrets were out there? What mysteries of the universe lay beyond? 

“I’ll leave you to your mission,” the Rodian said, nodding to the tall Jedi, who began to stride off immediately. Syenna felt the pressure lift as the intimidating man disappeared into the crowd without a second glance. 

“May the Force be with you, Master Krell,” said the Rodian, drolly. Then he took her hand. “I am Bolla Ropal,” he said, his eyes squinting into a smile. “Come, little one. Our journey to Coruscant awaits.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: No violent/confronting content, canon-typical danger


End file.
